Complaining
by body-eclairic
Summary: After he realises he'll be spending Christmas alone, the floodgates of his heart open and in pour the feelings. He tells Molly all about it, and through the little conversations, mostly monologues, he realises that his feelings for John are in fact there and they are much more profound than he'd ever thought they could be. Based off a tumblr post I can't seem to find, yet.
1. Chapter 1

_**All credits for the idea go to the person who dissected that scene and made my day. The idea of the story is basically about Molly finding a gay friend in Sherlock. **_**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

SLAM

Molly's lips thinned in a firm line as she tried to suppress the urge to yell at Sherlock. The sound that made her jump out of her skin was in fact the sound of Sherlock opening the door with such force that it hit the wall and probably fell a little more out of its hinges. The door creaked back into its place and Sherlock swiftly made his way to his usual spot behind the microscope.  
This had happened before. He would come in, pissed off because of God knows what- he would never tell her. He would never tell her, but she could see that it was John who caused his misery. And the poor bloke probably hadn't done anything bad, well not anything that he was aware of. Sherlock would pout his way to St. Bart's or Molly's whenever John looked at him the wrong way. Or worse- when he hadn't looked at him at all for a bit longer than five minutes.

''Evening, Sherlock,'' Molly said carefully as she kept her eyes on him. He gave no reply, but stared through the microscope at the samples of bog mud Molly had been studying just before he entered the room. He shrugged his coat off and it fell to the floor. Molly bent to pick it up and folded it in half, gently placing it on the table.

''Everything alright?'' she queried and moved her hand a little closer to his, but dared not touch him. She was blatantly staring at him and she was well aware of it, but no one could help themselves in a situation like this. He was still staring through the microscope, through the table, down into hell or God knows where, looking all aggressive and depressive. Something had happened, and it was something worse than the last few times he came to Molly. Maybe this time he was ready to speak about it.

''New shirt?'' Molly addressed the matter which intrigued her most- his unusual attire.

He finally spoke, in a bitter tone: ''Molly, I am certain that you have seen this shirt before. I've worn it quite a few times,'' and the way he spoke of his shirt, his white button-up that Molly was not talking about, was another clue that revealed to Molly that he was really angry. He would shift into a cross five-year-old mental state and pretend he didn't know what she was talking about, but he knew. (He always knew.)

Molly drew in a quick breath and spoke with a smile, ''I mean your- your... hoodie. You don't usually wear-'' Molly's embarrassed tone got quieter and quieter and the decrescendo made it easier for Sherlock to speak over her.

''Yes, alright,'' he turned sideways in his chair and threw his hands up, ''John and I watched a film yesterday night.''

Molly pulled up a chair from behind her and felt around the seat before climbing up onto it. She allowed him to continue, but he didn't need her to, he was already speaking.

''Well, he watched it, I merely observed him as he did so. He likes to comment on films, John. He often made remarks about how '_nice_' the couple in the film was, and by his reactions I could draw the conclusion that he took a fancy to the lead female character. He often commented on how she was dressed and how he likes women who dress casually. She was wearing one of these things, one made for females, at least...'' he looked down at his chest to indicate the unusual piece of garment that had somehow made his way onto his upper body. The word 'nice' was said with a grimace and Sherlock made it quite clear that he was quoting it.

An involuntary grin was spreading over Molly's features. She had a feeling that even her hands were smiling with delight.

Sherlock rubbed his chin, ''But when I showed him I bought one of these all he said was ''_Where'd you get that_?''

Molly looked down and hollowed her cheeks a bit as she thought of what she was going to say.

''Come on, he didn't say it like that, you say it with such... Bitterness,'' she inched away demurely, she was always wary of saying things like that to Sherlock.

Where she was expecting anger, came a calm and collected answer: ''No, I'm absolutely sure- I can remember it clearly. It's like my brain records everything he does.''

''Sherlock... Why do you suddenly _care_ about what John thinks?'' she knew he always cared, but now he was openly speaking about it and admitting it to her, ''I mean, it's really lovely and... extraordinary... that you do, but- you've never _cared_ before,'' she said, stroking the sides of her seat nervously.

''I don't care.''

Molly paused for a moment. ''Oh. Right.''

There was almost a minute of silence, but then Sherlock spoke again: ''He's been acting strange lately. We used to have all these nice talks and go to nice places and now he wants to '_visit his sister for Christmas_' and I honestly don't know why when obviously he would have a better time with me. Writing about ...the cases,'' or, in other words, John would have a better time writing about _him_.

They were silent once again, both looking out the window at the snow that looked glitter infested under the ambient lights. This had probably been the longest conversation they ever shared.

''Are you asking me... Do you want me to make him stay with you?'' Molly asked with a frown.

Sherlock drew in his lower lip and bowed his head slightly, and then started playing with his fingers before looking up at her through his eyelashes.

Molly straightened her lips which had almost given in to the smile that tugged at them. The answer was obviously no. She liked Sherlock, liked him a lot, but this would be crossing the line. John had his own life and his own problems to worry about and even if the eggnog at Harry's would be 20% one and its smell would awfully remind him of vodka- John would go and spend quality time with his sister.

Sherlock was still making his best persuasive face when Molly suggested something he thought was utterly dense but when the gears in his head turned, he cursed himself for not having thought of it before.

''You're going to be alone at Christmas? Why don't you contact Harriet? You could ask her to join them, you know.''

Sherlock pulled out John's phone out of his pocket and an ''Is that John's mobile?'' followed shortly after.  
She was trying not to roll her eyes at the fact that he was wearing a full-on suit but instead of a jacket he wore the hoodie.  
In a matter of seconds, the phone was by his ear, Harry's number dialled.

''Hello, am I speaking to ms. Watson?''

_''Depends.'' _the voice on the other line was just loud enough for Molly to hear it, and for Sherlock to have to move the phone a few inches away from his ear not to damage his hearing. He made a face as if he'd just drunk vitriol.

''Ah. I am you brother's best friend and I-''

''_Are you the posh git, then? Nice to finally hear you. Why don't you jog on, now, love_.''

''...Pardon me?''

''_Core. Haven't had your meds, eh trollop_?'

Sherlock was utterly confused, ''Er- my name is Sherl-''

''_I know who you are, darlin'. I know how you treat my brother and I don't appreciate it. You seem like a proper twat_.''

''Well, I'm really sorry you think so, madam, but I could prove to you that your brother and I get on just fine-'' Molly was trying not to laugh, they got on more than fine, but she understood what Harry meant. Sometimes even John didn't realise the lengths he went to please Sherlock, because it came naturally to him and he was happy when he made Sherlock happy. Maybe John was now drifting away just because he realised that he should put himself first sometimes.

''And I could prove it to you at Christmas, I'd like to accompany John-''

''_Accompany my arse! I've been noticin' this for a while, innit. The way you act like a first class toff. Do it at my house, why don't you_?''

It was quite clear Sherlock was not going to go with John, what was Molly thinking, that he could just invite himself over for Christmas? Well, Molly was probably thinking that Harry would've been a reasonable person.  
Sherlock hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket. He was going to spend Christmas all alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A huge Thank you to xXxjohnlockxXx and bbcsherlocklover on the lovely reviews, as well as everyone who faved and followed the story! It just fills me with joy to see people are reading it and hopefully enjoying it!. :) ) ) Well, here's the next chapter ^_^**

* * *

''Look, Sherlock, Christmas is in a week, so you still have time to make some arrangements, who knows what will happen,'' Molly said, feigning cheerfulness.

''It's no use! I can't fathom what you find special about Christmas. It's a day like any other. John should stay with me, not go off somewhere unimportant just because society decrees that this time of year should be spent exchanging presents in a drunken haze...''

Molly shook her head affectionately, ''Well, I think it's nice. John needs to spend time with his family, he's always with you.''

Sherlock looked at her as if he detested her. Molly pressed her lips together again and grinned a bit, she was going to say that it wasn't at all bad that they were spending so much time together but soon Sherlock was engrossed in studying John's phone, observing it as if it was some unsolvable, intricate case.

''Who are all these women..?'' he mumbled under his breath. Molly jumped up slightly as if she'd been stung, ''What? Sherlock, are you-''

''_You looked beautiful yesterday_,'' Sherlock read with a grimace, ''_Send me a naughty pic_.''

''Sherlock!'' she had never said his name so many times in such a short period of time, and never in such a reprimanding tone.

''Why does he keep texting this one? She seems to be special, even when she's being horrible to him he's still flirting with her and- Oh. Alright.''

Molly's face fell, ''What? What is it?''

''John and the woman have been exchanging pictures-''

''Sherlock!'' she snatched the phone out of his hand, ''I know you must know everything, but can you just not... Look at other people's private, _very, very private _things? John's... Can you? For John?''

''No I-'' Sherlock got up from his chair, ''I want to know why he keeps texting all these dull women. Does he need someone to talk to? I'm always there for him- It can't just be that he likes their private parts,'' he paused for a second, and then, Molly was not sure if the omniscient Sherlock Holmes had just said the word, but she could hear a quiet: ''Right?''

Molly gave him a sympathetic smile, ''People do get like this, you know. All this sex and love and nonsense,'' she said with heartfelt sorrow at the fact that Sherlock could be enjoying in it to, if only he let himself.

Sherlock started pacing beside Molly, ''In the whole of our relationship he has never acted like this. Nowadays he's always out with _them_, drinking coffee and eating muffin crumbs off their faces...'' He spoke to himself, and if one listened carefully one could hear that Sherlock wanted nothing more but to have John kiss the muffin crumbs at the corners of _his_ mouth. For that, Sherlock would even eat a muffin once in a while.

But something else caught Molly's attention. It was not a ''friendship'', not a ''partnership'', John was not his ''colleague''. Sherlock used the word ''relationship''. Still, a friendship is a sort of relationship, a very nice one at that. She decided to turn a deaf ear on it, even though the words ''precision of language'' kept biting at her brain. Sherlock knew exactly what he had said.

Molly checked her watch as Sherlock kept on trotting about.

''Right, I need to go,'' he finally decided, ''I'll see you tomorrow, you're coming to dinner,'' he stated, since he deduced that she hadn't changed her mind about John's little party nor had anything better to do.  
He dashed out the door in a matter of seconds, leaving Molly dumbfounded. By the time she noticed he didn't take his coat, she could already see him outside in the snow.  
She thought giving him a ring but she thought better of it and felt around his coat pockets where she, as expected, found his phone. She went around the table and stood near her chair as she looked at it. She was pondering over whether or not to read his messages when it suddenly buzzed- and in a bumbling haste it fell out of her clumsy, shaking hands and onto the floor.

9 missed calls. 12 texts. All from John. They were sent from somebody else's phone, but John had put his initials at the bottom so Sherlock would know who it is that was so angry at him.  
She picked the phone up gently and scrolled down the messages, her fingers not used to the touch-screen. Suddenly, the phone was offering her an option to ''_Send drafts (21)?_''  
As quickly as ever, she managed to cancel it, but the drafts had to be read. Once she started reading, she realised what her top priority was this holiday season. She would put the proverbial mistletoe above their heads even if she had to convince them that it was was the nicest thing they could ever smell..

* * *

''Where the hell have you been?'' John shouted. He was standing in front of their flat, in a thin windbreaker as the snow kept falling on his head, melting into icy water around his neck.

Sherlock, aghast at the sight, hurried toward him, taking his hooded sweatshirt off as he did so.

''Here, wear this,'' he said breathlessly as he shoved into John's face, ''What are you doing out here?''

''Well, I was going to give you a ring since I forgot the key, but someone took my mobile.''

The remark fell on deaf ears as Sherlock merely changed the subject, ''Where is Mrs. Hudson?''

''Out, I believe she and her sister are late night shopping- which does not matter at all- the question is, where were _you_?''

''With Molly, I needed to speak to her about the case,'' he held the door open for John, ''After you.''

John wrapped Sherlock's hooded sweatshirt tighter around himself and stepped inside the hallway, hanging around in the lobby for a bit as he waited for Sherlock to get in. As soon as the door was closed, with both of them in the warmth of the building, John kept walking up the stairs. He was much too tired to ask Sherlock anything, so he bid him a good night and went to bed, _forgetting _to take his hoodie off.


	3. Chapter 3

**:) Thank you for the reviews! :) also, this story is kind of an AU where the boys aren't on a case, but the Christmas bit from ASIB remains :) hope you like it! ^_^  
**

* * *

Well, it was easy to deduce that John forgot to take Sherlock's hooded sweater off. Why would he leave it on? The door of John's room closed and Sherlock figured that John was just too tired to take it off. Yet, when he opened John's door to turn the heating on, he found his windbreaker folded on a chair, while his hoodie was tightly wrapped around his body.

_Lestrade offered me some trifle. I want to bring you some, do you want some?_

_Sitting in a cab. It should be boring, but I find it really good for thinking. I can't stop thinking about you, should I bring some medicine? Tea? You have an assortment of medicine in the second cupboard to the left, behind my towels in the bathroom. That medicine might not use you, might be too heavy_

_I hope you're well_

_Going home early. The victim was wearing a jumper just like you have. I couldn't be completely indifferent about it_

_Where are you? I need you. Are you staying the night at her flat?_

* * *

Molly read the messages Sherlock wrote to John, but never sent, with a smile on her face. If the cabbie had looked at her, he couldn't really tell if the smile on her face was a sad one or a happy one.

_I want to see you, when are you coming home?_

_I miss you_

_Even with everyone else here, I'm on my own. No one but you can laugh with me at the fact that Anderson reeks of horseradish after I casually tipped the wink to Lestrade about horseradish being extremely appealing to women_

* * *

_Everyone else is not_ you

_He applied it onto his skin. Mixed it with water and sprayed it on. It's getting quite unbearable. Wish you were here_

_How do people like him exist, honestly?_

_You were saying something about_ us _lacking milk?_

Now, Molly's smile was definitely a happy one. I didn't stay like that for a long time.

_I hate that you're gone again, but it's nobody's fault but my own_

''221 Baker Street? Miss? That'll be eight pounds fifty-''

Molly's head snapped up and her cheeks warmed slightly, ''Right, yes, thank you-'' she mumbled as she searched her purse for some money, ''Here you are.''

''Have a lovely evening,'' she cabbie grinned at her politely, but she could see it was just him urging her to get out of the taxi so he could continue with work.

''Thank you, good night,'' she said cheerfully as she stepped out. Her high-heeled shoes sank into the snow and she almost wished she hadn't worn her them- but she wanted to look good, and she was certain the shoes and the dress, hair, make-up would do the trick. As she knocked on the door of 221, she made a mental note to ask Lestrade about his trifle. (Maybe Sherlock would know if Lestrade bought it or made it himself).  
_  
_As she waited for someone to open the door, she played with Sherlock's phone. It was a nasty habit she picked up from Sherlock, since he would always play with it when he was angry or anxious and had come to her for a few hours of quiet company. She decided she'd just leave it in the kitchen- Sherlock was in possession of John's phone nowadays so his own was the least of his concerns.  
Then, she realised that there was a sign on the door that said to just come in. She felt a bit awkward for not noticing, but the initial wave of embarrassment passed quickly, she was ecstatic about the night.

Even Sherlock's snarky self couldn't ruin the evening. He came very close to doing it, though.

''Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper,'' he said after promptly apologizing to her for what he'd said. She was mortified at first, mostly at the fact that she knew there was a sweet persona buried under that block of ice that only got colder as time passed, instead of doing the converse. But gradually, she realised that it was a good thing, even if he embarrassed her, that he spoke of her. By doing that he subconsciously admitted to her that she was not the only one that listened to his problems, he listened to hers, too. And in that trifle of a moment, their friendship got a bit stronger. Speaking of trifle- the fresh eggs, amongst many other things, told Sherlock that Lestrade did, in fact, make his own trifle.  
She couldn't help but to notice how Sherlock acted differently towards her when they were alone and when they were in a group of people. She also couldn't help but to notice the way Sherlock was eyeing John and Jeanette the entire night, and that little smirk as Jeanette rushed out of the flat. Unfortunately, John had followed her, and it left a frown on Sherlock's face. It was getting late and both Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had gone but there was no sign of John. Molly decided to hang around a bit as Sherlock stared at the laptop, seemingly uninterested and not caring about the fact that it was half past two a.m. and John was not coming back until morning, if then.

In her elated mood, she dared to suggest: ''Sherlock, you should go to sleep.''

He was not slow to reply: ''So should you.''

''Sher-''

''Why does he do it?''

Molly stood near the armchair in which Sherlock was sitting, bewildered.

''What?''

Sherlock sighed and shut the laptop: ''Is this his way of telling me that I'm annoying?''  
It wasn't the first time he thought of it. John could be sick of him just as he's sick of everyone else (save a few).

Molly shook her head: ''What? No, no... I mean, he's still very keen on being your friend, you can see that- everyone can.''

Sherlock grimaced, ''I don't want to be his _friend_.''

Molly swallowed and leaned against the armchair. ''What do you want?''

Sherlock sighed, as if Molly should know it (she partly did). ''I don't... know. I want him here, not off at hers or any other one of them...''

Molly nodded.

Sherlock leaned back in the chair, frustrated. ''Why _does_ he do it? Why does he go to Jeanette's? Am I not sufficient? Am I not good company?''

Molly grinned, ''You're wonderful. Maybe you should try doing what Jeanette does.''

''What? Be as boring as her? I can't be a dull person. There are usually two types of people, Molly, ones that are like the blunt side of a knife ad the ones that are like the sharp side.''

He didn't need to elaborate, it was clear to her that he thought he was like the sharp side while everyone else was the opposite, while Jeanette was as sharp as a sponge.  
_  
_''Go to sleep, it'll dawn on you,'' she yawned and sauntered toward the sofa to pick up her coat. ''I'll see you soon, alright?''

''Yes,'' he confirmed immediately, ''I'll need to speak to you about this John business.''

She bid him a good night but he gave no response, he just stared out of the window. She was hoping that any sort of plan was already forming in that brilliant head of his. And it was, with Jeanette becoming a temporary resident of his mind palace, he was listing all the things John and Jeanette were or could have been doing, things that could bring John back to where he belongs.


End file.
